A Pair Of Blue Eyes
by MaskOfMirth
Summary: Magic's ultimate weapon against darkness is the power of love. But when the champion of light slips into despair, magic pushes him in the right direction to reclaim that lost love. (Slow Updates)
1. A Pair Of Blue Eyes

No matter how many researchers, masters of their art, or anybody else said, nobody understood how magic worked. Since the very beginning there were those that devoted their lives to understanding, but nobody came close to uncovering anything more than 'magic is just magic'.

Magic wasn't sentient. There was no innate life in magic. That much everybody could agree on. That's not to say magic didn't have a consciousness of sorts, though. Since the first spell was cast, magic had been a delicate balancing act between light and dark; but the consciousness of magic tried to reject the darkness in itself. Nothing could be done though; magic was twisted and defied its own nature. With the rise of the first dark wizards so very long ago magic stopped being a tool but was instead directed at causing harm.

Darkness manifested itself into human form in recurring sessions throughout history and after a while magic found that it could indeed assist in purging itself of the darkness for a little longer before the new wave would seep in and manifest again. Magic would pick a host and fill that host with strength, light, and love. This host would rise with the power to topple the dark forces.

July 31, 1980. Magic once again had to take charge. A child was born to magic itself, carried in the womb of a mother who would protect it at any cost. A mother who would care for and love the child. A mother who would show him the way and help him end the rain of terror that came with darkness. But magic was beaten. A seer, a creation of darkness, let slip magic's plan and the darkness acted, ending the life of the family tasked to protect the child of the light. All was not lost though. The child survived, though he would have darkness inside of him until the end.

A mere fourteen years later, a magic could foresee the loss of the light. Darkness was pressing in. The child had suffered much, and all the love that magic birthed him with was nearly faded. The light in the child had grown significantly more dim over the years, and now that the child was coming to have a fighting chance it was going to end. The light inside him was like a light-bulb on its last leg with one last flicker before it would pop and be consumed by darkness.

Love fuels light, but can lead to darkness. But nothing led to darkness faster than having no love. So magic did something that was theorized and accepted as impossible. It made love. Magic found a host not unlike the child, now a young man, who desperately craved acceptance and love. It wouldn't be unkind to give them both something the needed and deserved. They would love each other, and together they wouldn't be a mere light-bulb, they would be a beacon.

* * *

Harry Potter awoke to a loud thud and muttered swearing, soon to be followed by raucous laughter. He groaned and rolled over, pulling his comforter over his head and burying his face in his pillow to escape the light shining through his tightly shut eyelids. This adjustment lasted precious few seconds until he heard more laughing and felt a pillow impact on the back of his head.

Harry surreptitious fisted the corner of his own pillow and using his seeker speed and reflexes rolled to his side and brought his pillow around to get revenge on his assailant. He heard a muffled grunt as his pillow made contact with the face of his red-headed friend, Ron Weasley.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and yawned loudly as he took in his surroundings. Dean, Seamus, and Ron were all standing around his four-posted bed wearing nothing but their pajamas and large grins.

"What's so funny?" he asked through a yawn, rubbing the spots out of his eyes.

"Just that dopey look you get when you sleep," Seamus laughed as the rest of the Gryffindor boys started to dress. "You might want to think about getting dressing. Champions are about to be chosen."

"Already?" The question came out a little more intense than he had intended, but rather than respond, his friends threw his clothes on his bed and left the dormitory, but not before Ron caught him in the back of the head with another pillow.

"Git..." Harry mumbled, pulling on his trousers and jumper. In a few short minutes, Harry found himself walking alone down the high ceiling hallways where the portraits were also speculating on who the Hogwarts champion would be. To Harry's dismay, they came to the general agreement that it would be him, until he pointed out that he wasn't old enough to enter.

As Harry entered the great hall, he realized that he was probably one of the last students to enter, if the fact that all four of the house tables were nearly full was anything to go by. Ignoring the constant looks he'd been getting for the last four years of his attendance at the castle, he strode to the Gryffindor table and took a seat about halfway down next to Ron, and directly across from Hermione.

His red-headed friend tried to engage him in conversation, but Harry couldn't process what was being said to him. It was as if there was a voice in his head, drawing his attention elsewhere. He heard the Headmaster's voice, but without even realizing it he tuned it out in favor of finding the source of his disturbance. He turned and his eyes scanned the Slytherin table first, and then the Ravenclaw, and finally the Hufflepuff table. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, so he once again allowed his vision to wash over the house tables.

As he was checking over the Ravenclaw table, he noticed a pair of eyes fixed solely on him. Sapphire blue eyes. He allowed himself to take in the rest of the young woman's features. Long, silvery-blonde hair with not a strand out of place, an angular yet soft face with high cheekbones, perfect arching eyebrows...but her eyes kept calling to him. He couldn't focus on anything else.

After a seemingly endless time, she broke the eye contact and stood. Harry's eyes followed her as she confidently walked between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw table, towards the staff table, and then into the small room off to the side of the hall.

A surge of anger briefly arose in Harry as he vaguely heard Ron make a comment about Fleur. 'Where did that come from,' Harry thought. The anger dissipated as quickly as it rose, leaving Harry as confused as ever. The comment that Ron made was no different than his normal crass behavior. He was pulled from his thoughts however, when he felt a sharp jab in his ribs and a pair of hands pushing him.

"Ron what are you-"

"Go. Your name came out, Harry. You have to go."

Harry became very aware of the building murmurs, and raised voices. Cheat. Liar. Dark wizard. Common insults that he'd heard over the years, but this time there was more venom to them than ever before. He felt himself being pulled to his feel and roughly shoved towards the staff table. He walked forward in disbelief, stumbling over his feet as he went. He desperately wanted to be anywhere else. He though about running. He took a step back, but the Headmaster's voice spurred him forward. With doubt in his mind, he pushed open the door to the side-room and stepped inside.

Nobody noticed Harry's quiet entrance for too short a time. Somebody asked him a question, but he couldn't understand it; could hardly hear it over the beating of his own heart. He scanned the room, unable to take anything in. It was like seeing blind. Nothing registered in his mind until he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Harry. Harry!" He snapped back to reality. Dumbledore's face was mere inches from his own. Over his headmaster's shoulder, he could see Cedric, Krum, and Fleur giving him worried yet wary looks, not quite sure what to make of him. He felt a bead of nervous sweat build on his forehead. "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?!"

"No..." he responded, but it came out a mere whisper. "No, I didn't!"

Over Dumbledore's shoulder, he saw the French blonde and the surly Bulgarian change into a more aggressive stance. The girl was about to speak when she was cut off.

"Put his name in the Goblet? What do you mean put his name in the Goblet?" Cedric's voice floated from his left. He didn't sound angry. Definitely confused, but no angry. Small miracle. "He's too young, and Hogwarts already has a champion."

The door behind Harry was thrown open hard enough to bounce off the wall causing Harry to jump and spin, hand going to his pocket to draw his wand as he did so. Harry swore to himself. He'd almost drawn his wand on Bagman, Crouch, and the headmaster and headmistress of the other schools. Bagman was smiling, but the others looked less than impressed, and the Durmstrang headmaster eyed Harry vehemently.

Bagman approached Harry confidently, and clapped his shoulders. Harry saw his lips move, but he tuned it out again. The exuberance of Bagman in this situation was almost enough to make him sick. Bagman frowned, noticing Harry's apparent disinterest and turned to Dumbledore instead.

Harry took to look at the other champions again. Cedric's body language was relaxed, his weight on one leg and his hands in his pockets but his face was stoic and revealed nothing. Krum was much the same, leaned against the wall with his normal surly look but nothing to show he was feeling anything different. Fleur was different, much so. She stood upright and proud, her body tense. She had a hint of a sneer but her eyes told a different story. As Harry once again looked into them he felt some of the tension ease out of his body and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"E cannot compete. E is just a little boy!"

His smile slid from his hardening face. He squeezed his eyes shut for half a second. He didn't know why, but her words stung. More than anything ever had, her words hurt. Without even thinking, Harry turned and ran.


	2. Weighing of the Wands

**AN: Alright, so first off I would like to thank everybody for their support on the first chapter, it means a lot to me, especially as this is my first fanfic. Secondly, this is a short chapter and I apologize for that. But I feel that if I was try and belt out longer chapters, then the quality would suffer as a result of me just trying to hit a word quota. Not a lot going on in this chapter either. Its just kind of a filler chapter to help set up future work.**

 **(*, *) = Taken directly from the book**

* * *

"REDUCTO!" Harry watched in satisfaction as one of the desks in the abandoned classroom was reduced to a pile of ash and splinters. Its was his fourth attempt at the spell and he had mastered it; granted it was one of the easier spells in his book.

He took a seat on top of what was formerly the teachers desk at the head of the classroom and idly flipped through his defense book, scanning the pages for anything that could help him survive the tournament that he was through headlong into.

'Little boy!' It was an unfair statement. Sure, his knowledge was lacking in the spells and theory department, but he knew for a fact that he had far more experience than any of the other contestants. He wasn't a little boy. That aspect of his life had been taken from him at an early age, and he'd prove that he was just as much a competent wizard as the rest of them.

He didn't care what the others said about him running off, he knew what he was doing. He had run to the Gryffindor tower and emptied his trunk, sifting through his books until he found the book requested by Moody, his invisibility cloak, and the Marauder's Map. He through the cloak on before he left his dorm, not wanting to be disturbed on the way out like he was on the way in, and used the map to find an empty classroom where he could practice. As an afterthought, he had a sinking feeling that by running like he did he had proven Fleur right, regardless of his reasons for doing so.

He didn't know why he should care what she thought; its not like he'd never received negative attention before, but coming from the blue-eyed blonde it felt more personal. He would prove her wrong though.

Shaking the thoughts from his head he returned back to the task at hand and found a spell in the second half of the book that seemed extremely useful. "Stupefy," he read under his breath. Useful and easy, requiring only a flick of the wand.

Harry had given up on practicing spells shortly after getting the stunning spell down. As his anger and indignation dissipated, so too did his drive and determination. Were that not good enough reason to call it a day, he felt as though there was too much going on in his head to properly focus on the task at hand, anyways.

He found himself wandering the corridors under his cloak until just before curfew, hoping that by the time he returned to Gryffindor tower, most of the occupants would be asleep. He knew how most of them would react. Other than Fred and George Weasley who would probably be ecstatic that Harry had been chosen, he guessed that most of the upper year students would be disappointed in him. They weren't who he was worried about though. Harry's long-time best-friend Ron Weasley had always has a problem with jealousy, and this would undoubtedly cause it to flare up again, while Hermione was more of a wild-card. He was sure she would stick by him whether she believed him or not; that was something he could at least be thankful for.

When he made his way through the portrait of the Fat Lady, he thanked whatever God was watching over him that his prayers were answered and the common room was blessedly empty. He lingered for just a second, debating on whether or not to ink out a letter to Sirius before deciding better of it. 'No reason to worry him. He'll probably just barge into the great hall and demand answers, and get himself chucked back in Azkaban...or kissed.'

Harry was ruthlessly pulled from his thoughts as he was overcome by a sudden wave of exhaustion. He wearily made his way up the stairs to the boys dormitory, fighting every step like it was Voldemort itself. He quietly entered the room, careful to not let the door slam behind him and threw himself onto his bed, not even bothering to undress. He was out the second his head hit the pillow.

* * *

True to his thoughts, the next couple of weeks passed agonizingly slow, when most of the Gryffindors, Ron included, turned their back on Harry. Hermione on the other hand split her time between Harry and Ron, not wanting to ostracize either of her closest friends, for which Harry couldn't really blame her for. Her constant pestering him to talk to Ron quickly wore thin though, and she was forced to drop the subject after Harry finally blew up at her. He quickly apologized, but Ron wasn't brought up again.

November thirteenth found Harry following Colin Creevy out of Potions, much to the chagrin of Snape and earning him another failed assignment. In Harry's opinion, the fail was worth not having to deal with Snape since the man's attitude had only become worse towards Harry since the night that his name was drawn from the Goblet of Fire. After a short walk, Colin directed Harry through a nondescript door and took his leave.

He warily squeezed through the door, trying as hard as he could to escape the occupants' notice but he realized that his attempts were in vain as six pairs of eyes were on him. He noticed Ludo Bagman, looking garish as ever in his old Wasps uniform, a blonde curly-haired woman dressed in magenta robes and holding a smile that screamed 'evil', Mr. Ollivander, and the other three champions. Doing his best to ignore the sudden attention directed at him he fixed his eyes on the floor and made his way into the corner just to the right of the door, as far away from everybody else as he could get. He took a deep, calming breath and raised his eyes. To his relief, it seemed that everybody else had returned to what they were previously doing before his appearance and the staring had stopped, save for one person. The witch he had noticed earlier hadn't taken her eyes off of him, and still held the same unsettling smile. She gave Harry a bad feeling, and he resolved to keep his contact with her to a minimum.

(*"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know. . . to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if Harry has no objection?"

"Er -" said Harry. *)

She quickly moved towards where Harry had been leaning against the wall and roughly grabbed his arm, taloned fingers, digging into his robes and skin. She tried pulling Harry towards the door, but Harry jerked his arm out of her grasp, which was a task that took a surprising amount of strength to accomplish.

"Er-sorry, I'd rather just get this over with so I don't get in trouble for missing too much of class..." He said, forcing his voice into an apologetic tone. It was a lie, of course. There was no way he'd be going back to potions class after the showing of getting him out of it. In an attempt to save face he quickly added, "Maybe another time, though?"

The woman readjusted her jeweled spectacles and gave Harry a half-scathing, half-triumphant look, which almost had him more worried that the deceitful smile she had fixed on him earlier. Harry saw her preparing to say something, but to his relief she was cut off as the door was thrown open and Dumbledore, closely followed by Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and Mr. Crouch entered the room.

A worried look flashed across the old Hogwart's Headmaster's face as he glanced between Harry, and the reporter who was still standing uncomfortable close to Harry. "Wonderful! We appear to all be here, so let's get started!" He said, clapping his hands and steering Harry over next to the other Champions. He directed Harry to a chair directly to the left of where the Beauxbaton's champion was sitting. He fought the urge to look into her startling blue eyes, and instead focused on Bagman, who was busy explaining the Weighing of the Wands.

(*"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmm..." he said.

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it chose to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches. . . inflexible.. rosewood.. . and containing. . . dear me. . ."

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's."*)

Veela? Professor Lupin lightly touched on the subject of Veela in his Defense classes last year. He didn't tell them much other than they possess ethereal beauty and give off an aura that, if your mind isn't guarded against, can lull men into a stupor or drive them to impress them. Also, as he saw at the World Cup during break, they have the ability to shift into a terrifying avian form; but Fleur said the hair was her grandmother's, and he didn't feel the need to impress her, so he assumed she must not be full-blooded Veela herself. Still, it made him wonder if his fascination with her was the result of the natural aura that Veela give off, or if it came from somewhere else.

Harry watched Krum and Cedric get their wands inspected by the old wand-maker, one of the first people he met after joining the wizarding world, before it was his turn. He noticed that Ollivander took a bit longer with his wand than the others, but he said nothing. After his wand was returned to him, he quickly tried to escape the room but was stopped as Bagman laid a hand on his shoulder and called for photos.

Harry inwardly groaned and allowed himself to be pulled in with the other champions. Cedric was in the back due to being much taller than the others, and Krum was in the back too apparently trying to hide from the cameras. Fleur was unhappily talked into standing in front of Krum, and he was pushed in front of Cedric. Being pushed maybe a little harder than was necessary, Harry stumbled and brushed the French witch's shoulder with his own.

"Sorry," he said, fully apologetic but not allowing himself to look at her.

"Non," she murmured, turning her head slightly to look at the younger boy. "I am sorry" and upon seeing his confusion added "not for today. For earlier."

* * *

 **And that's it! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, even if it was fairly dull and short. Also, to clarify before anybody starts ranting in the reviews about "another veela-bond cliche story", its not. Magic gave them the desire to seek love out. It didn't make them love each other. If I need to, I'll go back and make that a little more clear, but hopefully this end-note will suffice.**


	3. AN and Day Before

**Alright, so this upload is more about the AN than the actual chapter as you can see. There's only about 800 words in this one and it doesn't really have much to do with the story, but I didn't want to upload a chapter solely dedicated to an AN.**

 **First, a question for you guys; Would you rather have longer chapter with longer upload times, or shorter chapter with faster uploads?**

 **Anyways, I make no promises that I will finish this story, though I will try. To that length, if I feel like I'm running out of steam on it in the future I will be keeping an out for somebody to take it over and keep writing. Also, work is getting pretty hectic; I'm out the door within five minutes of waking up and in bed as soon as I get home, so uploads are definitely going to be behind for a short while. Sorry about that, but such is life.**

 **Another question for you - Judging from my writing in the first couple chapters and the drivel below, would you suggest a beta or should I keep it to myself? I'm new to writing fanfiction so your opinions mean a lot to me.**

 **I appreciate the follows, favorites, and reviews as well. On that note there is one review that I would like to clear up.**

 **Smutley Do-Wrong - I know what chagrin means, and I saw it as fitting in the situation because Snape couldn't stop Harry from leaving his class which, in my mind, be embarrassing. For the second part of your comment about how if he's so unhappy then why is he having a pillow-fight, are you telling me you've never had a happy moment even though you were depressed? or even just went along with it regardless? 'Nuff said. Valid review though, and I thank you for it.**

 **Thanks for sticking with the story, and sorry for this upload. Just don't want people thinking I've already abandoned it.**

* * *

For the first time in a very long time, the headmaster of Hogwarts felt every year his age. Keeping as many secrets as he did, especially life-altering secrets, was taking its toll on him. At this moment, the consequences of every decision he had made came to the front of his mind. His decisions had gotten a lot of people hurt, killed even, but nothing hurt his heart more than the case of Harry Potter. No matter what he did, Harry Potter was fated to have a painful life and even Albus Dumbledore couldn't change that. Every day for the last four years he had fought an internal debate with himself on whether he should tell Harry of what was to come, and every day he had to squash the urge to do so. 'Soon' he kept telling himself.

He had come close once already at the end of the last year; but then he realized that he had already knowingly subjected the young man to a painful and unfulfilling home life, and telling Harry what he had heard that night many years ago, sitting in a dingy room in a pub, would just add to the enormous strain he was already under. He just had to hope the boy-who-lived would continue to do so until age itself called him home. Before he could think that far ahead though, he had to hope that Harry Potter could make it through the next year. After all, the Tri-Wizard Tournament was cancelled for a reason, but he had faith. Harry had already done extraordinary things in his short life, and he would continue to do so because he had no other choice. The headmaster sighed and pushed those thoughts from his mind as he pulled a growing stack of papers in front of him.

* * *

For having just left a detention with Snape for hexing Malfoy, who had accosted Harry in the hallways after lunch and harassing him with a 'support Cedric Diggory' badge, he was strangely happy. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but he suspected it had everything to do with Fleur Delacour. Her apology to him meant probably more than it should have. Previously, he had stewed for a long while after receiving an apology even if he did put on an agreeable expression. The difference here though, was that he could tell that the beautiful French witch was sincere in her apology. She explained to him that it wasn't meant as an insult, she was merely worried. Even the 'leetle boy' insult didn't seem quite so much like an insult when it was put into perspective. Everything he had done could be more attributed to luck than any sort of skill on his part. He always had help in some form or another, and his magical repertoire was insignificant.

Harry immediately made for the Gryffindor common room to change for a trip to Hogsmeade with Hermione, but as he entered the common room he spotted his snowy white owl Hedwig sitting on the windowsill, a letter in her talons. It was from Hagrid, asking Harry to meet him at his cabin around midnight; he snorted, remembering the last time he found himself in the same position was when he, Ron, and Hermione had delivered Norbert to the astronomy tower.

* * *

'Dragons!' He couldn't believe it. Courage in the face of the unknown was one thing, but making them face dragons with no warning was ridiculous. Its like the organizers wanted to add four more deaths to the tournaments already respectable body count. He'd made sure he told Cedric after Hagrid had shown him the enclosure in the forest, and if he hadn't seen Madam Maxime and Karkaroff in the forest as well, the looks Fleur and Krum were trading was enough to confirm that they also knew.

He pressed his palms to his eyes and tried to rub the sleep out of them; he was awake most of the night with too many thoughts flying through his head to even try to close his eyes long enough to fall asleep. He idly picked at his bacon, no longer feeling hungry as he pictured the gout of flame the dragons were spewing. He tried to not imagine himself caught in the blast and failed miserably. He felt the blood drain from his face and sighed, as he looked back up to the Ravenclaw table. Fleur gave Harry a worried look as his gaze crossed over her and he had to force himself to not stare at the blonde beauty. With a slight shake of his head to get this thoughts in order, he rose from his lonely place at the end of the Gryffindor table and sluggishly made his way towards the library. He was NOT going to do down without a fight; he owed that much to his parents.


	4. The First Task

**So I've decided how I'm going to handle the chapter length situation, and its pretty simple. A chapter is going to be as long as I need it to be to write what needs to be written. See? Simple.**

 **Also, I'm going to be keeping the canon tasks but I will be making some changes in regards to how they are handled.**

 **Thank you again for all the support you've given me on this story!**

* * *

His movements felt sluggish as he entered the champion's tent for the first task, and his eyes felt heavy. He had stayed up until at least two in the morning with Hermione coaching him on the summoning spell, which he had finally mastered. Having mastered the spell didn't make him feel any more confident though; he still had to fight a dragon and that was no small task for anybody.

The other champions' eyes flicked his direction for a split second before they resumed what they were doing; Cedric and Fleur pacing, and Krum leaning against a pole in the center of the tent. They all looked nervous, but not as nervous as he himself felt. Sure, he had a plan but this was also a _dragon_.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts as Ludo Bagman, as ever in his wasps robes, entered the tent and beamed at the champions as he bounced on his heels. His cheeriness was almost enough to make Harry sick.

"All here? Good! Now I suppose its time to fill you all in! Inside this bag-" he held up a small leather bag, "is a model of the thing you are going to face in the challenge today; oh yes, the challenge itself is to get the golden egg...ladies first."

Fleur warily reached into the bag that Bagman held out to her and gently removed her hand, revealing the model of a Welsh Green with a number 2 hanging from its neck. She looked relieved, no doubt knowing that she could well have drawn the Horntail. Krum was next with the Chinese Fireball. Harry became nervous as Cedric put his hand into the bag. There was now a fifty-fifty chance that Harry would get the Horntail for himself. His heart sunk as Cedric pulled out the Swedish Short-Snout. Harry paused with his hand over the bag for a brief moment before plunging his hand in and pulling out the model of the Hungarian Horntail. Bagman let them know that the numbers on their dragons indicated what order they would go in, before asking Harry to step outside with him.

"How are you feeling, Harry? Anything I can get for you?"

"What? No, no I'm alright. If you'll excuse me, I need to focus on my plan..." Harry deflected.

"Oh yes. Well - best of luck." And with that Bagman was gone and Harry walked back into the champions tent and took a seat on a stool towards the back and desperately tried to not fall into a slumber.

"Don't look so nervous, Potter!" Cedric shouted across the tent. "After a basilisk, a dragon should be no problem, right?"

"Except the basilisk almost killed me without breathing fire," he called back in a shaky voice.

"Well yeah...there is that..."

He barely heard the cannon blast that indicated the official start of the first task, and Cedric exited the tent. He shook his head and tapped his foot on the ground, hoping that the movement would help. He was watching his feet and didn't notice the presence of another until he felt a hand on his shoulder. His head jerked up in surprise at the contact, and he was greeted by the site of what was easily the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

"Arry, are you okay? You look sick," Fleur asked with real concern.

"Yeah. Fine. Tired, nervous, the usual," he muttered. Fleur quirked an eyebrow at him.

"So what about a bazilizk?" she asked, pulling up a stool next to him before sitting down and crossing her legs. Harry couldn't help but notice how perfect her legs were. Shapely and well muscled, yet they also looked soft.

"Oh...er...nothing," he stammered out, somewhat embarrassed. He hadn't told many people about the events of his second year, and none of the people he told were named Cedric Diggory. Ron must have told him, he thought.

"Almost being killed by a bazilizk does not sound like nozzing," she snorted.

"Fine. There was a basilisk attacking muggleborns in my second year and -" he was interrupted by the sound of a cannon blast. "Looks like you're up. Good luck, Fleur."

"Thank you, 'Arry. Maybe you can finish telling me about zis bazilizk later." She said as she stood and made her way to the exit. Before she stepped through, she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. "Zat was not a question, 'Arry Potter."

Krum and Harry sat in silence for the next ten minutes, occasionally hearing 'oohs and ahhs' as Bagman would commentate on Fleur's performance. Eventually there was a loud round of cheers shortly followed by another shot from the cannon, leaving Harry alone as Krum entered the arena. In a show of impatience and nerves, Harry took to pacing around the tent while he waited for his turn and after what seemed just short of an eternity, the cannon signaled that Krum was finished.

On the other side of the tent exit, he found himself in an arena that was about the size of the quidditch pitch with stone and boulders littering the area. Considering his plan to handle the horntail, the size and shape of the arena was enough to make him internally chuckle. He scanned the area quickly and not seeing anything took a couple cautious steps forward only to be assailed by a loud roar and the appearance of the fearsome black and spiked dragon from behind a rock outcropping on the other end. That's where the egg is.

He took cover behind a large boulder and flicked his wand, "Accio firebolt!" After a few seconds of nothing happening, he began to get even more nervous thinking that maybe his summoning spell had failed. As he was abut to cast it again his ears picked up a woosh and he looked to the sky just in time to see his sleek broom barreling towards him. Wasting no time he threw his leg over his broom and kicked off hard, soaring high above his adversary and circling as he fine-tuned his plan to get closer to the egg.

As the dragon seemed to glare at Harry, he decided that the only way to get his prize would be to lure the nesting-mother away from the clutch; whether by righteous fear or legitimate intelligence, he planned on keeping as much distance as possible unless given no other choice.

He gave a short experimental dive towards the golden egg and watched as the scaly creature just eyeballed him. Wanting to test the dragon's speed, he pushed his firebolt to the limit and circled around the beast being sure to keep high in the air out of reach. With an unforeseen grace, the dragon spun on the spot, keeping her wing covering her clutch. He took several more experimental dives at the egg all, all with similar results as the last. Finally he concluded that he wasn't getting anywhere and he had to push the limits and see how close he could get before he would incur the wrath of the horntail.

He pulled his broom up high and directly above the nest and with nothing else to be done he dived as hard and fast as he could. With a sound reminiscent of a belch, a great gout of flame erupted from the annoyed reptiles maw, and only Harry's seeker reflexes allowed him to roll out of the way in time to avoid being incinerated. As it was he could feel blisters raising on his face and exposed skin and the crowd gave several cries and shrieks as he was hidden by the torrent of fire. With a hard jerk of his broom he was again behind the dragon and was resolved to fly directly under the belly of the beast to grab the egg. He had made a very heavy mistake though; the front of the horntail wasn't the only dangerous place to be, which he realized too late as with a sickening crunch a long spike was driven into Harry's shoulder.

As bad as he wanted to let go of his broom and grab his shoulder this was a life or death situation and he held on for dear life. Biting back the intense pain and dizziness, he pulled hard on his broom and managed to right himself mere feet of the ground. He grit his teeth and shot forward under the dragon and bracing his chest against the handle of his broom, he scooped the egg up in his good arm before racing out from between the confused mother's front legs and toward the arena's exit. He felt blisters raising on his back as he barely outraced another spew of fire and as soon as he made it through the exit, he slumped off his broom and finally let his weary eyes close. _I did it. I'm still alive._


	5. The Hospital Wing

After losing all of my work on this chapter not once, not twice, but three separate times in such a way as to make me sympathetic to those poor Baudelaire children, I bring you the next installment of A Pair Of Blue Eyes. Well to be fair, this isn't actually the "real" chapter. The real chapter is still being rewritten, and this is just the first 1k I had written for it. Just uploading this to let you all know that this story is not abandoned.

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As soon as Harry's eyes cracked open, he was immediately forced to close them again to protect from the blinding whiteness that was the hospital wing with the afternoon sun glaring through the windows. He brought a hand up to cover his eyes as he cracked them open and his other hand grabbed his glasses from the bedside table where they had consistently been for the previous three years. He let out a groan as he arched his back to stretch the stiffness from his joints and kicked his legs over the edge of the bed to sit up. A sharp exhale escaped his lungs one more as hit feet came into contact with the cool tiles of the hospital wing floor.

As soon as he stood fully erect, Madame Pomfrey appeared in his sight and forced him back into the bed with a handful of potions. "I should have known that it would be sooner rather than later, that I'd see you this year - what with this idiotic tournament going on," she spat as she forced a neon red potion down Harry's throat. "Canceled for a reason! And yet they saw fit to bring it back! Some of the most influential minds in the current magical world, and making decisions like this; makes me wonder what kind of future we have...".

It seemed like an hour later when Madame Pomfrey finished force-feeding Harry, and with a jokingly serious warning to give it an hour or so before he leaves and to not come back she waved her wand at the entrance to the wing and bustled back to her office. As if on cue, the door was thrown open and Ron and Hermione all but sprinted to the other end of the hall and to his beside.

"Later," Harry said tiredly, holding his hand up in a gesture of silence. He definitely didn't want to deal with Hermione tripping over her own words in an attempt to say as much as possible in as short a time as she could, and he most definitely didn't want to have to hear the redhead's stammered and most likely half-hearted apology. He wanted some time to himself and he told them as much. "I just need some time to get my head on straight. I'll be out of here in an hour; we can talk then."

At a loss of words at Harry's obvious rebuking, the duo gave him sad looks and turned with their heads down, and made their way back to the entrance. He only felt a slight tinge of unhappiness as he watched their backs but the unhappiness was soon squashed by confusion as Ron suddenly tensed up when Hermione shouldered the over-sized door open. His confusion cleared up soon too, as the most beautiful girl Harry had ever seen brushed past them and stopped, looking around for half a second until she spotted the raven-haired boy.

"Fleur!" He said with a small smile, as she approached him. "What are you doing here?"

"Arry! I did not know 'ow long you would be 'ere for, so I zought I would keep you company, if zat is okay?" Gone was her confident demeanor. In fact, if Harry had to venture a guess, he would have said she was a mix of worried and embarrassed.

"Er - yeah, I was just about to get dressed and leave, actually..."

"NOT YET, YOU AREN'T! ONE HOUR, MR. POTTER!" came floating from the back of the room, in the direction of Madame Pomfrey's office.

Fleur grinned at Harry, and he had to look away from her mesmerizing blue eyes and towards his feet as he could feel a blush coming on. "Am I really such bad company, 'Arry? that you would want to be rid of me already?"

"No! No that's not it!" He insisted. He smiled slowly. "Its just - I already spend plenty of time in here. Can't say that I'm enamored with spending more than I already have to."

Fleur's eyes swept over him, taking in his ever growing collection of visible scars. "Tell me about zis one," she demanded, pointing out a decent sized depressed circular scar midway up his forearm.

Harry couldn't help but to let out an honest laugh at her choice, which in turn made her laugh, albeit with an air of confusion. "Of all of them scars, you pick the one that the basilisk gave me."

"Zat is not funny! Why would you laugh! You could have died!" She vented angrily, which succeeded in quelling the younger boy.

"Its just - the tent before the task - the basilisk...coincidence" He halfheartedly tried to explain his amusement.

She gave him an imperious look look a few second, which again had Harry uncomfortable and looking anywhere but at the stunning blonde. "You are right. So now would be a good time to tell me this story?"

So slowly and reluctantly, Harry began the story of his second year. He started with the writing on the wall outside of Myrtle's bathroom and the dueling club, and explained how everybody had thought him responsible for the attacks. Throughout the story, he understated each event in an attempt to make the situations seem less dire than they felt at the time. By the time that he had got to Hermione's being petrified, his pulse quickened and anger bled into his words, but as he finished the story with the destruction of the diary he visible relaxed and and trailed into a near whisper. The Chamber of Secrets incident may have happened two years ago, but retelling the story had made it seem as fresh as yesterday.

Fleur merely listened to his story, offering no words. She, thankfully, refrained from showing the hero worship he was so used to receiving, but even better was that she neither pitied him or shied away from him upon hearing that he could speak to snakes. That particular ability has haunted his steps ever since; even in his fourth year there were those who hadn't looked past that aspect.

"Thank you, for telling me zis. I understand it cannot 'ave been easy to make yourself relive that nightmare," she said softly, placing a hand on his arm, which made his skin tingle and had his cheeks burning. "I 'ave only one question...what 'appened to this despicable Lock'art?"

Harry grunted disdainfully. "I have no idea, and I don't particularly care. I'd rather have Quirrel over him, parasite and all."

Fleur raised an eyebrow and smirked at Harry. "Who is zis Quirrel and parasite?"


End file.
